


Arrow of the Goddess

by Antipode



Series: Before The Devil Knows You're Dead [2]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Adoption, Biotic Shepard (Mass Effect), F/F, Paragon Shepard (Mass Effect), Parenthood, Post-Canon, Post-Mass Effect 3, Post-War, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29250879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antipode/pseuds/Antipode
Summary: Continuing from where "That Old Spectre Magic" left off. The web of intrigue tightens, drawing more of the crew of the Normandy into it.Post-ME3 Destroy/Happy Ending, set in 2216 where Sybilla Shepard has retired from the System Alliance Navy, but the System Alliance Navy doesn't want to give up on Shepard.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Liara T'Soni
Series: Before The Devil Knows You're Dead [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070054
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

“... extremely troubled by these developments, Admiral.”

Hackett stood at a rough approximation of parade rest, overcoat resting loosely on his thinning shoulders and peaked cap tucked behind his back, doing what he reasoned was a fair job of looking like he was withering under the seven sets of holographic eyes staring down at him. He’d found briefing the Citadel Council always required a certain amount of groveling, and after decades in the service he’d largely perfected his act to a degree that perhaps only Tevos, that iron-eyed asari, would recognize the lack of crispness in his stance and the downward angle of his glance as a private little rebellion, rather than genuine mollification. Petty, perhaps, but such private little rebellions were all that he retained.

“Council intervention may be necessary to prevent a greater spread,” Trennian, the swaggering young raptor was saying now, pacing for what he doubtless imagined was effect.

“Absolutely not.” Cole, the sneering, sniveling prettyboy Parliment had deigned to name human Councilor, cut him off. “This is a matter of Alliance security. The Council must recognize human sovereignty on our own homeworld.” He folded his arms and tilted his head, doubtlessly not realizing his posture, tone, and body language was nearly the same as the turian Councilor he sparred with so often. “Prime Minister Saracino has the utmost confidence that Alliance Command has the situation well under control.”

“With respect to the esteemed Admiral Hackett, we lack that certainty,” Dalatrass Aelbana drawled. “And the Union has questions on the circumstances of these four individuals’ exposure to Keter-Class materiel.” The old salarian blinked. “I was under the impression that the Alliance had ceased experimentation on such materiel following the Treaty of Dis. A treaty every member of this Council willingly signed.”

“Under protest,” Urdnot Criid rumbled. “You salarians are quick to demand “treaties” and “non-aggression pacts” now that you’re not on top of the galaxy anymore. If the humans want to play around with things that are going to blow up in their face, I say let ‘em. This is a domestic matter, not a galactic one.”

“We went down that path once before,” Trennian snapped. “Perhaps the _esteemed_ Urdnot Criid has forgotten how many worlds burned, because the old Council lacked the courage to act when the Reaper threat might have been manageable.”

“Bold words for a pup too young to serve,” Criid spat back.

“Enough.” Though soft-spoken and often reserved, there was a nameless quality in the voice of Councilor Tevos that commanded at least attention, if not obedience. The Councilors glared at the asari and at each other, but fell silent. “Councilor Cole is correct. It is not in the Council’s capacity to intervene, should the Alliance exercise their right of sovereignty.” Cole looked insufferably smug. “However,” Tevos continued, “Councilor Trennian is also correct. Should a treaty violation be at play here, the Alliance risks possible sanctions. On the behalf of the asari Republics, I would ask the Alliance voluntarily submit to a Council audit of the circumstances that allowed for this situation - in a manner that does not interfere with their internal investigations.”

She’s good, Hackett suppressed a grin. Backed the little rat into a corner.

“With all due respect, Councilor,” the rat started, his extensively-modified jawline working furiously, “this is a matter of Alliance sovereignty on our own homeworld, and -”

“If I might interject?”

Seven sets of eyes swung back on Hackett. They’d practically forgotten he was still here. And why not? Of what importance was the tired-eyed old figurehead of the once-vaunted Alliance Navy, in an era of peaceful obsolescence?

“I have a solution that might satisfy everyone,” Hackett drawled. “A Council auditor, with an Alliance pedigree. Equally beholden to both parties, so as not to prevent a conflict of interest or threaten Alliance sovereignty with Council meddling. Someone able to kill two birds with one stone, if you’ll forgive an old man’s aphorism. Say… a human Spectre.”

Hackett saw Tevos’ eyes immediately flicker with recognition. Recognition, and something else. 

“We… could agree to the deployment of a Spectre to oversee this manner,” Aelbana said slowly, weighing her words. “Provided, of course, that the Alliance is willing to work with a Council representative.”

Cole glared daggers at his Admiral. “General Alenko is getting a little long in the tooth, is he not?” the swaggering cock said flatly. “Other Alliance-affiliated Spectres are already tasked. I am not opposed to the idea, Admiral, but with the need for the Spectre program already up for debate, I wonder who, precisely, you had in mind-”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Criid thundered. “He’s talking about Shepard. I thought she was retired.”

“She is,” Tevos frowned. “And from what I understand, she is quite comfortable in that retirement. The Republic is… not opposed to this idea, though I wonder how willing Shepard herself would be to play her part.”

“She’s too old,” Cole argued. “And she’ll never come out of retirement. Last I heard she was in the mountains in the middle of nowhere on Earth. Look, it was a good idea, but-”

“If Shepard could be persuaded, would the Council consider this matter settled?” Hackett pushed.

“Big “if,” Admiral,” Trennian drawled. “But if you could do it… the Hierarchy would withdraw its complaint.”

“As would the Union,” Aelbana agreed.

“Shepard’s daughter works for me at the embassy,” Tevos offered. “Shepard would likely rebuff an offer made directly, but perhaps through the young Aethyta…”

“She’ll never agree,” Cole shook his head. “If she did, I suppose the Alliance would submit to an audit… I mean, we’d be hard-pressed not to take the words of the great Commander Shepard at value.” He sniffed. “But she’ll never agree. I’ve tried to bring her back into the fold in some manner or another, time after time. Once, personally. She slammed a door in my face. She’ll never agree.”

Now, Hackett allowed himself a small smile. “She’s already on her way,” he said with a slight shrug, and revelled in the shock and confusion on seven faces. Councilor Cole’s eyes simmered with hatred. Hackett pretended not to see.

_Got you, you little prick_.

“She has returned, Matron.”

Liara’s head snapped up from where she had been resting it atop the wooden counter, her eyes sharpening in worry. A mug of tea sat, cold, by her hand, a pile of unread data-pads scattered about. There was a cloud over her. "Is she-"

"Unharmed, Matron." Taix paused a moment. "In body. She looks… distraught. And…"

"And?"

"She is armed, Matron." Taix studied her boots. "I have not seen the Peeress like this in some years. It is disconcerting. She looks like -"

"Like the old Shepard," Liara finished for her. "Like the war Shepard." It felt like the pit in her stomach had fallen out, had dragged her into a fathomless void from the inside out. "She is at the rock, then? At the edge of the yard?"

The diminutive asari nodded. "You know her well, Matron." It seemed to reassure her. Liara wished she was as easily reassured. "Matron? If I may?" Taix hadn't lifted her eyes. She was only a few years younger than Liara, but seemed much younger - as young as a Maiden should, as young as one who had not lived through the things Liara had lived, had not seen the things Liara had seen.

"She will… she will be alright, won't she, Matron?" There was an uncharacteristic current of uncertainty in the young commando. She'd only been in their service for a few years, but it seemed she'd cleaved strongly to Sybilla. They always did: Sybilla was a soldier's soldier, dyed in the wool, even in retirement. She was a natural leader, and venerated among survivors of the Reaper War - especially asari, so much so that they called her "Kurin'neshi Ir'phira." Arrow of the Goddess. She inspired loyalty in a way Liara never had, but could well understand. After all, she'd fallen in love with that dashing smile, those piercing eyes, from the moment they'd fallen upon her, trapped in a Prothean stasis bubble on Therum. A lifetime ago.

Liara looked with sympathy at her bodyguard. She hated to lie to them, these brave asari that swore to put their lives on the line for her. Unlike her mother, she'd always enjoyed a close relationship with her commandos. She wanted to comfort them, to protect them, wept when they suffered on her behalf. She wanted to lie to this young asari, now, put her mind at ease. But she couldn't. "I don't know, Taix," she sighed, feeling as frightened and heartbroken as her bodyguard's expression. "I am trying."

There was a painting hung in the embassy wing done by a very famous hanar artist of Commander Shepard in the prime of her youth and power, clad in her emblazoned red-and-black N7 hardsuit, silhouetted against a rising sun as she stood, triumphantly, atop the smoking corpse of a Reaper. Sybilla, of course, hated it on sight, but Liara always paused to spare it an appreciative glance whenever she walked by. The sight of her bondmate atop a flat rock on the hills overlooking town, silhouetted by a setting sun, was even more thrilling than any painting could have been, no matter how skillfully. Her plum-colored headscarf had come unravelled about her shoulders, and her clothes were dust-stained, rumpled, and splattered with what was obviously blood. The bits and pieces of what had at one time been a firearm were scattered about the hillock, smashed to fragments like the ceramic mug had been earlier this morning. She had her back turned to Liara, but she could see her studying her knuckles, could feel even without the bond the pain in them, in her.

She didn't speak as she strode gently over to where Sybilla sat. She just settled down on the rock, leaning her weight and her support against her human's powerful frame, peeling a glove off as she laid a cool, bare hand against Sybilla's forearm. Her skin felt warm and smooth against Liara's pebbly scales. After a moment, Sybilla flipped her hand over and threaded her fingers through those of her wife. Liara didn't ask, didn't tell her to Embrace Eternity. After more than thirty years together she could sense when her partner wanted and needed the affection and affirmation of the meld as keenly as when Liara herself wanted and needed it.

Their first melds had been as shocking for Sybilla as they had been for Liara: tumultuous, overwhelming, like a glass of cold water accompanied by the realization that you'd been thirsty your entire life, that you'd been born in a desert. Every time had been electrifying, almost frightening; at her need for Sybilla, at Sybilla's need for her. Now, as Liara felt her consciousness pour into Sybilla, felt Sybilla's mind embrace her, it was more akin to slipping into a warm bath; comforting, calming, a return to what felt right and good, as if this was their natural state, two halves of the same whole, reunited. It was returning home after a long journey to find her lover's arms waiting; it was rolling over in the night and seeking the warm embrace that would allow her to once more drift into their shared dreams. There was no shock, no jarring sensation. Their souls knew each other intimately.

Liara felt, rather than saw, what Sybilla had seen, had done this afternoon. She felt the impact of the man's nose against her knuckle, felt the cold weight of the gun in her palm. Felt Hackett's gaze on her, smothering, choking, felt his pronouncement squeeze her heart in a vice. Waves of their shared sorrow and fear washed over the both of them, crashing, heaving, receding. Liara poured reassurance and affection into that space that the pain had crept into, wrapped her lover in her arms even as she filled her heart and mind and soul with love. A few conjured memories: of the first time they'd met, of the first time they'd kissed, and almost kissed, of the first time Sybilla had held their daughters in that hospital on Earth. Her wife was as sturdy and strong as the mountains but the mountains were cracked, and into those cracks and fissures Liara slipped, not waves on a seashore but a rising tide, a gentle swell, a soothing rain that did not wash away but instead filled, cradled, healed. In the physical and real Liara could feel arms around her, steadying, embracing, and could feel into her core the strength in them, the promise of protection, the unwavering support and trust and love. There was no measure of how long they sat, embraced. Time had no meaning in the place where their souls entwined.

"You have to go," Liara said finally, when the warmth of the meld had slipped away, fading like mountain mist in the crisp evening air. It wasn't a question. They'd done all the speaking on the matter they'd needed to without words; their minds and hearts and souls spoke more deeply and fluently than mere words could ever. They both knew, intimately, what was at stake, what it would cost. She hated it, hated what Sybilla’s sense of duty was drawing her back into, hated the forces at work that would manipulate and twist her lover’s nobility, her loyalty. Hated being one of the knives twisting into Sybilla’s back; a connection, a weakness. Hated how easily Hackett could use those connections - her, Kaidan, others close to Sybilla - to force her hand.

"I have to go," Shepard agreed, though reluctantly. She sounded a million miles away. It still took her longer to pull back from the shared connection of the meld. No matter how much they Embraced Eternity together, it would always be a strange journey for Sybilla; one her nervous system might grow accustomed to, but never entirely familiar with. Liara knew to give her time, to just enjoy the comforting quiet between them. Sybilla's mouth moved, wordlessly, as her brain sought to remember the link to her tongue. And then: "You know, this was the sort of thing we used to fight about."

"You say that as if you miss it," Liara mused dryly, not glancing up from her nest, curled up in Sybilla's arms with her crest rested in the crook of the tall woman's neck. It felt like it had been made for her; as if her body was designed to slot in seamlessly against her bondmate. In a strange sort of way, she supposed, it was.

"The fights? No." Liara felt, rather than saw, the wolfish grin spread across her lover's face. "The make-up sex afterwards?"

" _Goddess_ ," Liara exhaled, flushing, feeling the words ripple through her body, feeling her body responding automatically to the suggestion in a way that, while gratifying, felt supremely unfair. "How is it you are still able to make me blush after thirty years of marriage?"

"I hope that's not all I can make you do after thirty years," Sybilla murmured breathily into the side of her neck, her voice becoming heated. Goosebumps ran up and down Liara's scales. Sybilla’s effect on her was definitely, definitely unfair; how the merest glance, the lightest touch, the slightest injection of that low, breathy growl in her voice positively melted the asari from the inside out.

"You are _terrible_ ," she giggled, feeling a Maiden again. She threaded a hand through her bondmate's loose curls, luxuriating in the warmth of her cheek against hers, at the smell of her. They murmured and whispered and nuzzled and writhed against each other, fingers and hands tracing familiar patterns over familiar territory, as thrilling now as it had ever been the first time, the first hundred times. How could it be that, with each passing year, she was more attractive? How could it be that, with each passing year, she found new ways to make Liara's heart beat faster?

When Sybilla’s green eyes met Liara's blues, they faltered for a moment. A cloud passed, briefly, over her face, and her gaze fell. "Blue…"

"Don't," Liara whispered, suddenly hoarse. "Don’t you dare make that promise again, Sybilla Shepard. I asked it of you, once. You gave it freely, another time. I… I cannot bear a third."

Strong hands cupped the asari’s face; calloused fingers brushed electrifyingly against the subtle curve of her crests. The brushing of their noses was intimate; the promise of her lips, hungry. Lust and sorrow struggled in Sybilla’s eyes. "I know," she sighed. "I won’t."

It was dark when she left; the sheets of their bed tousled with the urgency of their lovemaking; her scent mingled with Liara's, drifting in the cool night air; the home they shared seemingly larger, emptier without her towering, comforting presence; the chill fog outside seeming to swirl and swallow her up as she vanished within it, leaving only a lingering kiss and a backwards look. Liara watched her go, watched long after she had left, her mind filling in the shapes and curves and lines that were as familiar to her as her own body, her longing conjuring up an image of Sybilla returning from the War for the last time, and not departing to fight in another.

Taix sat across from where Liara stood, her fingers drumming a nervous cadence on a mug of tea long cooled. Liara watched her out of the corner of her eye. Plucked from the newly-reformed Serrice Guard. Young, but tough and capable, her dedication and loyalty incontestable. Hand-picked for Liara's guard by Sybilla herself.

There were few in the galaxy Liara still trusted. Taix would have to be one of them. 

“Glyph,” Liara intoned quietly, without turning from the door. “Closed channel. Piares Protocol.”

“Yes, Dr. T’Soni.” The infodrone burbled in place for a moment, nano-processors whirring. “Piares Protocol activated. The _Nekyia_ is enroute. Estimated time of arrival, one hour twenty-six minutes. Ms. Lawson has been alerted.”

Taix rose smoothly. “Are we leaving, Matron?” There was a question in her eyes she knew better than to ask.

Liara paused for a moment. It was not yet too late to turn back.

“I know I have your loyalty, Taix, but I need to know - do I also have your trust?”

“Matron?” The questions behind her eyes deepened.

“Do you trust me, Taix?”

The diminutive asari’s flinty grey eyes blinked, almost involuntarily. Her expression remained neutral. “I swore a vow, Matron.”

Liara nodded, solemnly. "You are new to my service, and there is much… history, at play. There are things I have done… What we must do - what I must do - to help Sybilla..."

"Matron," Taix cut her off, gently, respectfully. Her grey eyes bored into her. "Kurin'neshi Ir'phira is Serrice Guard. She is my Sword-Sister. 'Till Death, We Stand' is the oath I swore to Serrice. To her. To you." She inclined her head. "Your will is my command. You need never explain yourself to me."

A sad smile flickered across Liara’s lips. “Sometimes, Taix, your Matron’s actions will need explaining. What I hope is that you trust me enough, and trust your intuition enough, to know when to do so.”

Taix chewed on this for a moment before nodding. "Archon Shiala said as much, when I was recruited. I confess I did not truly understand. Perhaps, Matron, I still do not. But I shall endeavor to… to trust my own intuition as I trust yours."

"Thank you, Taix. That is as much as I can ever ask of you."

Glyph burbled over, pulsating brightly. "Pardon, Dr. T'Soni, but I have Ms. Lawson on an encrypted channel. Piares Protocol, as requested."

"Thank you, Glyph." She absent-mindedly smoothed out her nightgown, brushed at an errantly-positioned crest, spared Taix a backward glance. Glyph "folded" and a holographic image of a breathtakingly beautiful human woman with dark hair and chilling blue eyes floated into view. Like Shepard, the ebb and flow of time seemed to barely touch Miranda Lawson. It seemed fitting that the creator would share so much with her creation. A few crow's eyes here, a hint of grey at the temples, a certain weariness in the gaze were her only visible compromised with her advancing age.

"Lawson here. Had to find a space where I could speak unobserved. What's the emergency?"

Liara took a breath. "I need a full intel profile and threat evaluation on a high-ranking military target, within the hour. I want a full operational history, current assignments, personal protection and accessibility analysis. Everything that can be found, by any means. And I need you, waiting on the Citadel when I arrive. Activate every asset we have in-system."

Miranda nodded crisply, all business. "What's the target?"

She thought her voice might falter. It didn't. "Admiral Steven Hackett."

Miranda's eyes flickered, but she merely nodded. "Of course… Shadow Broker."


	2. Chapter 2

"Get in position."

The young quarian first knelt, then laid down on her stomach, moulding her body around the butt and stock of the rifle. She'd remembered the mat, this time: a simple piece of cloth, but last time the rocky ground had nearly ripped a hole in her livesuit. She was young, and healthy, and developments in livesuit technology and dextro-amino medicine had made the need for extreme caution largely obsolete, but her mother had still been furious at the both of them. Almost instinctively she flipped the cover on the scope off.

"No," came the deep drawl of her instructor, correcting her. "Not until the last minute. It reflects light. They can see you from kilometers away."

Raan sighed and flipped it back down again, biting back the retort that immediately sprung to mind. _Develop proper habits_ , she heard in her father's voice. _Treat the practice-field like the battlefield_.

"Pick your target."

She sighed again, peering downrifle at the section of targets they'd set up, a few hundred meters away. "The one in yellow?"

"Okay. Keep calm. Don't take your eyes off him."

She settled in against the rifle stock, feeling the weight against her shoulder, feeling the pull of the trigger beneath her finger. The target loomed in front of her, almost close enough to touch. 

"Breathe easy. Watch the movement. The rise and fall of your shoulder, of the rifle. Feel the wind. Move with it."

Around them, the breeze gently whispered, riffling through cracks in the rocks, through the tops of trees. She could feel the world around her disappearing, felt everything fade away save for the words, the rifle, the target.

"Take a breath. Hold it… hold it…"

Her finger closed over the trigger. The cover on her scope clicked open, as if on its own accord. Through the lense, there was nothing but her, the target, the rifle, the trigger.

"Now."

She exhaled at the same moment that her finger closed over the trigger. There was a gentle push against her shoulder, a muffled whisper from the barrel. The target fluttered, a puff of vapor erupting from center mass. Her visor hid her smile.

"Good," Garrus Vakarian said, his smile identical. "Very good."

"Dad?"

They'd been quiet nearly the entire walk back to the house, content to enjoy the ambient noise of the Rannoch countryside. Garrus had always been raised in cramped cities and turian space stations, had never realized how much there was to appreciate in the simple pleasures of nature: of open skies, of crisp, clean air, of the feel of grass and the cool touch of the wind. It was a life he wanted to make sure his children - all of his children - enjoyed to their fullest, even if his adopted quarian progeny couldn't quite live without their livesuits yet. He cocked a head towards Raan, their youngest, already so much like him.

"Hmm?"

"Who was a better shot: you, or Auntie Billie?"

Garrus chuckled. "That's… a tough question, little one."

"How come?"

He could feel her curious gaze through her visor. Silver bangles tinkled against her helmet as she skipped along beside him. "Well, depends on the circumstances. At a range, with a rifle? I'd win every time, though she'd never admit that." He chuckled. "But up close, standing down a charging krogan?" He wiggled his mandibles. "I'd say fifty-fifty."

"Auntie Li says Auntie Billie was always having to save you," Raan said dryly.

Garrus rolled his eyes, chuckling. “I’m surprised Auntie Li can remember anything about the “good old days,” considering how much time she spent with her eyes in the stars, in the dirt, or firmly planted on your Auntie Billie’s backside.” He coughed, dropping his voice. “Don’t, ah. Don’t repeat that one.”

Raan kicked at a rock, watching it bounce along the russet-colored ground. “But Auntie Billie did save you?”

“About as many times as I saved her.” He patted his daughter on the helmet. “Your Auntie Billie and I were a team, little one. Best fire team in the galaxy. Always had each other’s back. “No Shepard without Vakarian,” she always said.”

Garrus could hear the frown in her voice. “But I thought you said Auntie Billie was the best soldier who ever lived?”

He stopped and knelt down to her eye level for a moment. “Being a soldier isn’t always about being the best shot, little one. It’s about making everyone around you the best they can be; working together to do things nobody could do alone. And your Auntie Billie is the best there ever was at getting people to work together.”

Raan seemed to chew on this for a moment. “So… she wasn’t the best at fighting, but she was the best at getting other people to fight with her?”

“She was pretty good at fighting, too,” Garrus allowed. “Almost as good as your ‘ol dad. She might’ve been able to beat me a time or two, hand-to-hand. But my rifle against hers? I never lost.”

“That’s not what mom says,” Raan giggled. "She said you and Auntie Billie would compete all the time and that you lost as often as you won. She said Auntie Billie even had to let you win, once."

"She did _not_ let me win," Garrus waggled his mandibles indignantly. "Your mom always did fall for Auntie Billie's stories."

"Mmhmm." Garrus could feel his daughter rolling her eyes. "It's _Auntie Billie_ that's telling stories"

"You sound like your mother," Garrus grunted, nudging the young quarian with an elbow until she giggled.

The pair emerged from the switchback canyons by the sea and started down a series of steep hills leading downward to the long, low house in the valley that Garrus and Tali had built after the war. Or rather, that Tali and their geth neighbors had built - the sensible, defensible traditional-style turian design Garrus had sketched out had been immediately tossed in favor of something closer to the Shepard-T'soni love nest on Intai'sei; cool in the daytime and warm at night, with solar panels and an irrigation system that reduced a reliance on the outside world. Garrus hadn't thought that machine-gun nests and minefields was too outrageous, but even Shepard had shot him a look when he had tried to protest. It was, he had to grudgingly admit, much more comfortable and aesthetically pleasing than anything he'd lived in on Palaven.

"Your mother should be home soon," Garrus glanced skyward, tracing the position of the sun. "What do you want for dinne-"

He spotted the shuttle, long and louche, rumbling impatiently on their landing pad alongside the family skycars. Immediately wishing for his visor, he brought the hunting rifle up to his shoulder and snapped open the lense cap on the scope, spotting four figures entering the home, his home, four figures dressed in dark clothes and walking with the easy arrogant swagger of soldiers or mercenaries. "Get behind me, little one," he murmured urgently. "Quick, now. Quick like a pyjak."

At the same moment, his 'omni buzzed.

"Dad?"

Victus, his eldest, hummed into view, nervously adjusting his fringe. There were shapes in the background. He looked confused and a little alarmed.

"Victus, are you alright?" Garrus's heart beat like a krogan war-drum as he tried to keep the panic from entering his voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine, uh… I just didn't think we were expecting visitors? A bunch of people showed up. They said you were expecting them. They’re just waiting in the living room. I think they’re from the Council?"

"Sorry, big guy," Garrus said slowly, as he led Raan down the incline toward the house, keeping one eye on the shuttle while covering the door with his rifle. "Must've slipped my mind. Your sister and I are just coming down the ravine now. Be there in a few minutes. Why don't you, ah, wait in your room?"

The teenage turian twitches his mandibles. "Is everything okay, dad?"

"Everything's fine, son," Garrus slipped the safety catch off the rifle, trigger finger caressing the trigger like an old friend, a long-lost lover. "Everything's going to be fine."

The interior of the Zorah-Vakarian love nest was cool and dim, gently thrumming with oxygen recyclers and triple-filtered dehumidifiers against the Rannoch heat. A series of nooks cut into the long entrance hallway contained mementos from both Palaven and the Migrant Fleet; pictures of their children growing up, fragments of memory from their days on the Normandy. Garrus slipped into one of these, checking that his thermal clip was still reading green, sweeping the hallway for targets. He’d made mental map after mental map of the layout of their compound for just such an occurrence. He’d felt silly, doing so, paranoid even; his mind drifting to a very drunken night aboard the Citadel, of a certain turian ex-vigilante and a certain human mercenary imagining how best to defend a Silversun Strip luxury apartment. He didn’t feel silly or paranoid anymore.

“Raan, run along to your brother’s room and keep the door closed. I’ll come get you in a little while, okay?”

His young daughter trembled with confusion and alarm at his side. “But-”

“No butts, little one. Your dad just has to speak to some, ah, “old friends.””

He waited until the patter of her feet disappeared into the house before moving swiftly and with purpose from alcove to alcove, keeping his profile minimal as he swept the hall for any surprises. He’d always loved how quiet it had seemed, inside, how peaceful. Inwardly, he cursed whoever had dared to shatter that peace. Now, the silence of the waiting-room, where the home’s security function was reporting four bio-signs, seemed a threat; sinister and unnerving. He paused at the door for a few heartbeats, trying to bring his breathing under control. It had been years since he’d felt this sensation; the feeling of hunting, of being hunted, and it was as thrilling as it was terrifying.

The door chimed as it slipped open.

“Primarch Vakarian. The Council apologizes for the intrusion.”

Four asari, three standing and one sitting, were waiting in the dome-ceilinged living room. The three commandos looked like they all could have been sisters; indigo skin, violet-flecked eyes, and identical pale pink stripe-patterned markings across their faces. Garrus cursed inwardly, wishing Shepard was here not least of all because she would have known what the markings meant. None of them had anything heavier than a sidearm or a knife strapped to their dun-colored letters, but even without the powerful biotics each asari possessed he’d seen commandos in action, knew he’d have his hands full with just one commando, let alone three working in tandem.

The fourth asari was not a commando. Teal-skinned, with a horizontal band of white across her dark eyes and a matching vertical band across her lower lip, her wispy, diaphanous robe gave her the look of some kind of priestess, and the deference with which the others paid her suggested some kind of political appointment. She folded her hands in her lap. “We attempted to contact you before we arrived, but your bondmate was unavailable and we were unable to secure a signal. I hope our arrival has not caused you undue concern.”

“No,” Garrus drawled, lowering the rifle reluctantly. “I often expect strange shuttles full of commandos waiting for me in my living room. I’d offer you a drink, but I don’t think I have anything levo on-hand.”

“Thank you for your kind offer,” the asari lilted, apparently missing the sarcasm. “Revira, Treiala, Asarais, you may leave us.” The commandos nodded wordlessly and filed out of the room. The last one gave Garrus an appraising look and a wink as she passed. He clicked his mandibles in scarcely-contained irritation.

“What’s this about?” Garrus grunted, pacing. “If Trennian is trying to pull me back into the Hierarchy, you can tell him what I told his father: I’m done. I’m not-” He trailed off as the asari diplomat pulled a small projector out of her robes and held it upward. After a moment, the regal profile of Councilor Tevos floated into view, glancing about the living area before settling her eyes on the turian.

“Primarch. I apologize for this disturbance. I trust you are enjoying your well-deserved retirement?”

“Trying to.” He stopped pacing. “Difficult, when I’m finding armed strangers in my home, with my children. This had better be important, Tevos.”

A look of annoyance crossed the Councilor’s face. The glance she shot towards her asari underling was colder than Noverian sunset. She glanced back towards Garrus. “When was the last time you spoke with Sybilla Shepard?”

“Shepard?” He scratched at the back of his fringe. “A few weeks, maybe? She and T’Soni were going off-grid somewhere on Earth.” He folded his mandibles in an approximation of a frown. “She’s retired, too, you know."

“About that.” Tevos’ eyes could bore holes through a dreadnought’s broadside. “Did she seem restless? Distracted? Did she mention anything about Councilor Cole, or Admiral Hackett?”

Garrus gently laid the rifle against a wall and folded his arms. “Councilor Tevos. All due respect, but - what in spirits is this about?”

“Shepard has been re-activated, Primarch Vakarian.”

Garrus’ eyes bulged. “She _what_?”

The asari Councilor nodded. "Operative Shepard arrived at an Alliance military facility this morning, Earth Eastern Standard. She's back in play."

"What the hell did you do?" Garrus fumed.

"Not me. Hackett." The asari pursed her lips. “After three years of rebuffing every offer - from the Council, from the Republic, and from the Alliance - she is personally investigating what I am being assured is a minor breakdown in Alliance internal security protocols.”

Garrus’ mandibles worked soundlessly for a moment. “Liara must be furious.”

“Another factor at play.” Tevos searched his eyes. “When last you spoke, she gave no indication that she was planning a return to service?”

He shook his head. "None. We talked about the trip she and Liara were going on. We talked about our kids. She seemed happy. Healthy. Better than I'd seen her in a long time. Retirement was agreeing with her. Hell, she looked younger, even." His own frown deepened. "Councilor, Shepard had been talking about getting out years before she did it. She's wanted this for awhile. It would take-"

"-something significant to draw her back into the Alliance," Tevos finished. "Something more than a minor matter of an Indoctrination incident."

They both fell silent for a moment.

"Tevos, why are you telling me this?" Garrus asked quietly.

"Beside her bondmate, you know Shepard best," Tevos offered. "You are in contact with her most frequently. If anyone had an inkling-"

"Bullshit." His mandibles waggled furiously. "You're 'Thyta and 'Nezzie's godmother. 'Thyta works at your embassy, for spirit's sake. You've known T'Soni since she was a child. You could have just asked them, either of them. You came to me. Why?"

The asari Councilor paused for a moment. "Primarch Vakarian, do you know what "Kurin'neshi Ir'phira" means?"

Garrus frowned. "My translator says "Arrow of the Goddess," but I'm guessing you're going to tell me it's a little more complex than that."

"Kurinth, the Huntress, was the Goddess Athame's most fierce protector. She is a Goddess of huntresses, of warriors. According to the old legends, it was death to witness the Goddess at hunt. Where the Arrow of the Goddess lands, something great and terrible is sure to follow." She paused for effect. "We name Sybilla "Kurin'neshi Ir'phira" not merely out of admiration, Primarch. It is in warning, and in rememberance. We failed to recognize the significance of Shepard's involvement in a "small matter" once before. We can never afford to do so again."

"Hackett and Shepard go way back," Garrus offered. "He's like a father to her. It could be as simple as a favor to him." His voice faltered, not believing his own words even as he said them.

"With Shepard, things are never so simple," Tevos said sadly. "Goddess be with you and your family, Primarch. I pray you are not drawn into this matter any further." And then the hologram faded.

"Dammit, Shepard," Garrus growled into the empty air. The asari handmaiden rose quietly, offering Garrus a smile tinged with sympathy, and then she too was gone, leaving the old turian alone in the dimly-lit room.

He took a few minutes to calm his racing thoughts before hurrying through the now-empty halls to his eldest son's room. "Victus? Raan?" He knocked twice on the door, then once, then twice; the coded knock he'd made them all memorize. "Victus?"

The door swung open, and both children burst out, distressed, immediately into their father's arms. Garrus sighed with relief as he scooped the both of them up and held them, as tightly as he had when they first adopted them as infants, orphaned by the terrible War and its terrible aftermath. "By the spirits… I'm sorry. I'm sorry to put you through that. Are you okay?"

"Just… freaked me out, surprised me," Victus admitted. "They weren't uh... they weren't like Auntie Li or 'Thyta and 'Nezzie. Those asari scared me."

"Those asari scared me, too." Garrus gave his son another hug.

"What did they want, Dad?" Raan asked from under Garrus' arm.

"To ask about Auntie Billie," he sighed. "They think she might be in trouble."

"Is she?" Victus demanded.

"I don't know, big guy," Garrus sighed again. "But I think I'd better find out." _No Shepard without Vakarian, after all_.

**Author's Note:**

> Some thoughts on the Vakarian-Zorahs:  
> Raan is 11-12ish and Victus is around 17-18. Victus is an awkward teenager that definitely has a crush on Aethyta (sorry champ, she bats for the other team, and is simultaneously too old and too young for you). Raan is fully just quarian Garrus.
> 
> The geth are around in this universe; they jointly settle Rannoch. More on this later.
> 
> I imagine Garrus as being roughly Shepard's age, a retired Primarch turned stay-at-home dad. Tali is 55 and still an Admiral. And I couldn't sneak it in this one, but Garrus definitely wears socks with sandals and calls Victus "sport" and "champ."


End file.
